Bobby gives a sly smile and says, “Of course.”
My heart pounds in a mixture of anxiety and frustration. I pick up my burger and try to ignore my heart—it’s been too opinionated lately anyway.
Between Ray and Bobby, the entire lunch hour turns into a who-has-the-best-story-about-Duke showdown. Apparently he was the king of toilet-papering houses and helping himself to people’s pools at midnight.
“Telekinetics make the best TPers,” Ray says. He imitates throwing a roll of toilet paper. “We get a nice arch …”
“And then send it even higher,” Duke finishes for him.
“Pff,” Bobby says. “But you can’t get it through walls.”
“Wait,” I say. “This was recently? I thought these were little-kid stories. But these are post-ability pranks? Wow. So mature.”
“Hey. We were freshmen. We hadn’t quite mastered poise and sophistication yet,” Duke says with a laugh.
Laila clears her throat, and I anticipate her sarcastic remark about how they still haven’t, when instead she says, “Look who just walked in.”
Duke and I glance over our shoulders and see Poison.
“Who is that?” Bobby asks.
“A huge loser,” Laila informs him. She gets a sparkle in her eye that I don’t like. “I’ll be right back.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“If he looks out the window, distract him.”
“What?” I’m confused, but she’s already halfway to the door.
Poison orders food, and I watch Laila scan the parking lot, then spot his car and swiftly walk to it. She reaches up to her hair and must’ve pulled out a bobby pin because when she gets to his car, she kneels down and unscrews the tire cap.
Duke laughs. “She’s letting the air out of his tires.”
At the counter, Poison is just finishing his order. He’s seconds away from turning around and having a full view of Laila at his car. I grab a soda off the table, jump up, and walk around behind him. As he turns, I slam into him and let the cup smash between us, sending ice and soda all over. I didn’t think about the fact that the front of my shirt would end up soaked, but it does the trick.
He lets off a string of cusswords.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
He meets my eyes, and I don’t know if he recognizes me from Laila’s house or if he just realizes that I’m a teenager and undeserving of his verbal abuse, but his expression softens. “It’s not a big deal,” he says gruffly. “Just watch where you’re going.”
“Yeah, I will.” Not sure if Laila is done yet, I grab a stack of napkins off the counter and start wiping his shirt.
“I’m good,” he says, and storms to the bathroom.
The man behind the counter is staring at the mess on the floor.
“Sorry,” I say, about to drop down and use the napkins there.
“It’s okay. I’ll get the mop.”
My shirt is wet, and my face and arms are sticky. When I turn back around, Duke is smiling. “Good one,” he says as I sit down.
“What was that all about?” Ray asks Duke.
I give Duke a look that I hope tells him not to air Laila’s dirty laundry, and he says, “Oh, nothing, that guy just cut us off on the road earlier.”
I pull my wet shirt away from my skin. “I’m going to need to change.”
He unzips his backpack and whips out a purple jersey with the name Rivers across the back in gold print.
Not in a million years, I want to say, but he has the cutest expression on his face. I take it. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
After I change into Duke’s football jersey, I stare at myself in the mirror. It’s so not me. I feel like a fraud. Not only am I swimming in it, but it’s like an advertisement to the world that I belong to Duke. People will think I asked him if I could wear it.
My hair only adds to my fraudulent look—I’ve been straightening it ever since Duke told me it looked hot that way, and I feel as pathetic as that sounds. Now my hair is sticky with soda and attempting to curl on one side. I free an elastic band from my pocket and pull it up into a ponytail. I tuck the front of the jersey into my jeans and make myself feel better with the fact that I can change into my emergency outfit when I get back to school. Suddenly I don’t feel quite so neurotic for keeping (and continually replacing) that outfit in my locker.
When I exit the bathroom, everyone is filing out of the restaurant and piling into their cars. Duke and Laila are waiting for me. Even Laila knows I shouldn’t be wearing the jersey, because she curls her lip when she sees it. But Duke smiles and lifts me into a big hug. “You are so adorable.”
As we walk out of the restaurant, Poison is standing by his car, holding a to-go bag and staring at his tires.
“Man,” Laila says, “that sucks.”
I want to push her and tell her not to draw attention to herself, but that would only add to it.
Poison turns slowly, then looks her up and down. His gaze travels to Duke and then lingers on me. I lower my head and pull on Duke’s arm, wanting to walk faster, but Duke just stares at him and then says, “Can we do anything to help?” in the friendliest voice ever.
Poison wrenches open his door, throws his bag inside, and pulls out a cell phone from his pocket.
“I guess that’s a no then?” Duke says. Laila laughs.
As we drive away from Fat Jacks I turn around and smack Laila’s leg. “You are seriously demented. That guy is going to kill you. His name is Poison, Laila, remember? And did you see those tattoos on his arms?”